


You Don’t Really Want To Get Married, Do You?

by orphan_account



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 10:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Family Fluff AU.Pats and Deels return to Poplar for the happily-ever-after they deserve. Set during an alternate version of Series 8.





	1. One More Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This attempts to adhere to canon only up to the end of Series 7.

**December, 1963**

They’re in India.

At a little hotel on the edge of the Periyar river.

It’s a Tuesday night, if Patsy’s not mistaken.

And Delia pokes her awake. 

“-Pats…?”

The redhead had been in the grip of a stressful dream, where she was still at school and somehow hadn’t remembered to revise for an exam at all. 

_Could’ve been worse._

Could have been about the internment camp.

Patsy is bone tired. 

Her and Delia just endured a bumpy, seven hour, off-road drive in a Land Rover. 

Lucky they didn’t run out of petrol. 

Delia had insisted on bringing several extra fuel cans, muttering something about ‘the English and their navigational skills’. 

Which Patsy had thought was very silly at the time.

As, technically, it was only supposed to be a two hour drive.

When they got lost, the redhead had refused to stop and ask for directions. 

Because she can read a map perfectly well - _thank you very much._

_It was obviously a printing error._

Somewhere around hour five, Delia had given Patsy a deeply unimpressed look from the passenger seat.

One of those instances where the brunette is so cross, she doesn’t even have words.

But right now-

“-Pats.” Delia pokes her again, “You awake?”

“Mmm…” The redhead acknowledges without opening her eyes, still half asleep.

“I’ve been thinking, a lot…” The brunette pauses.

“Mmhmm?” Patsy encourages, hoping to speed the conversation along. 

Because she loves Delia dearly - but, also, _sleep_.

“I want a baby.” The smaller woman says, with resolve. 

Patsy chuckles.

Delia has always had a good sense of humour. 

A little wry. A little zany. 

Unfailingly delightful. 

“Should’ve said something back when I was up to my eyeballs in babies.” The redhead replies, voice deep and raspy, thick with sleep. “I’d have absconded with one for you.”

She feels a light shove against her shoulder. 

“I’m being serious!” Delia whispers back. “And just think. It would be the perfect cover. If I were to have a baby, no one would ever suspect we were queer. People would think I’d gotten involved with the wrong man. And you’re my kind-hearted best friend who recently came into an inheritance, you’re just sharing some of your good fortune with me for the sake of the baby.”

Patsy finally blinks her eyes open, conceding that she’s not getting any more sleep tonight. 

“So...you’re going to - what - have it off with a chap?”

“No!” The brunette scrunches her face up in disgust, “That couple we met in Madurai, Anne and Padma, they told me about a method women like us can use - it’s how they had their son. Sounds dead simple, really. We just need a laboratory pipette and a man to...donate a sample of his...you know.”

“Oh, simple, yes,” Patsy says sarcastically, “We’ll just stroll up to a strapping young lad and ask him to have a wank right there in the street, shall we?”

Delia frowns at the redhead’s flippancy, “You know how there’s clubs, sort of like Gateways, but for men? I thought we could ask around at one of them, somebody might be sympathetic to our situation.”

“You’re mad,” Patsy scoffs.

She reaches for a cigarette from her pack on the bedside table. 

But Delia deftly plucks it out of her lips before it’s even lit, “I wish you wouldn’t. They’re saying it’s not good for you now, it causes cancer.”

Patsy deflates a bit.

She’d been looking forward to a spot of nicotine. 

“You won’t let me sleep. You won’t let me smoke. What exactly am I allowed to do, Darling?” 

“You’re allowed to talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking, how you feel about a baby. Is it something you want?” 

_Is it?_

The redhead had never spent much time considering the topic.

She didn’t have the sort of childhood that made room for fanciful ideas about the future.

And by the time she’d met Delia, Patsy was already old enough to know there would be no fairytale ending for them.

She quickly resigned herself to the reality of their circumstances.

But Delia was different. 

Delia dreamt of forevers and weddings and shared homes - and all sorts of things the redhead hadn’t even dared to imagine. 

Patsy thinks back to when she was leading Cubs - her only real experience with children (beyond handing newborns to their mothers).

The Poplar boys were a mad, raucous bunch. 

But she has to admit she adored them all.

“...Well yes,” She decides, “A child would be lovely. But I don’t know if-”

“-Can we at least try? Please?” Delia requests, reaching out to cup the redhead’s cheek softly, “I want to have a family with you.”

The sentiment is so tender and so honest and the brunette looks so beautiful just then, that Patsy entirely forgets all the reasons this is a dangerously terrible idea. 

She forgets everything that isn’t Delia - with moonlight from the window streaked across her face and dark hair fanned out over the crisp white of the pillow.

“I love you,” Patsy leans in for a kiss.

And Delia shifts onto her back seamlessly, subtly encouraging the redhead to settle on top of her.

They’ve done this a million times.

Patsy has memorized all the steps. 

Every curve, Every freckle. 

Every little thing that makes Delia tremble and breathlessly whisper the redhead’s name.

Still, it never loses its appeal. 

It’s all the same thrill that Patsy first felt back when she was a gangly, bumbling, young thing and her hands would shake just from getting to snog Delia in a supply room at The London. 

They were almost caught by Matron at least twice. 

Patsy’s hands are much more steady now, currently skimming the waistband of Delia’s pajamas. 

“May I?” The redhead kisses a hot path down the smaller woman’s neck.

“Why do you still always ask?” Delia laughs softly, and the vibration makes Patsy’s lips tingle.

“I think it’s important, to be sure you want me. What if you change your mind and decide you'd rather have it off with a chap after all?” 

The redhead pulls back, pushes herself up a bit, so she can offer a lopsided grin. 

It’s cheeky. Because she knows that grin makes Delia swoon.

 _But, all’s fair in love and war_ \- the brunette’s dimples make Patsy swoon. So, they’re even. 

“I only want you.” Delia’s hands trail up Patsy’s arms and over her shoulders, trying to draw the redhead back in, “I want to marry you. I want to have a baby with you. I want to grow old with you. I’m never going to change my mind.”

Patsy’s grin falls from her face. 

The commitment that Delia has always shown her deserves a more serious expression. 

“You’ll have everything you want.” The redhead vows, “I’ll sort it out, somehow. I promise.” 

“...There’s one more thing I want.”

“Anything.” 

“I want you to take me home.”


	2. I apologise?

**December, 1963**

It’s New Year’s Eve.

And Trixie answers the door at Nonnatus.

She pulls Delia into a fierce hug. 

When they part, Patsy steps forward a bit, under the assumption that she’ll be receiving the same welcome from the blonde. 

But Trixie crosses her arms in hauty refusal. 

“No. Not this time Patience Mount!” The blonde sniffles a bit. “You go about being an absolute cad, disappearing, and whisking Delia away as well - nothing but a flimsy postcard every few months - then, just because you’re tall and dashing, you think you can waltz back in whenever you please, as if we’re all going to run into your arms? Well your wrong!” 

Delia smirks. 

And Patsy raises an eyebrow, “Weren’t you away also?”

“Yes but I wrote to everyone and I telephoned!”

“Oh...right. Well. I apologise?” Patsy ventures.

“Do be quiet, you’re horrid!” The blonde launches herself forward for a hug anyway.

“It’s good to see you too Trixie,” The redhead says evenly, giving the blonde’s back a stiff pat.

_Best to just let Trixie get it out of her system when she’s like this._

“I’m always losing friends,” The blonde murmurs sadly, “I couldn’t bear to lose you as well.”

Patsy softens a bit.

Jenny, Chummy, Patsy herself - they all walked away from Poplar. 

_Escaped it, if one wants to look at things cynically._

And poor Barbara never really had the chance.

Perhaps Trixie doesn’t get enough credit for the dedication she’s shown Nonnatus House and the people in it, nor the community they serve.

“You won’t lose me,” Patsy assures, “We’ll always be friends.”

The New Year festivities are already in full swing when they get inside.

There’s a round of warm welcomes from old friends.

And there’s a few new faces in the mix that Patsy doesn’t recognize.

“I’m Lucille,” A young nurse holds out her hand in greeting. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” The redhead smiles, “How are you finding life at Nonnatus?”

“It’s...intense,” Lucille answers with the ghost of a smile, “But in a good way.”

Delia quickly gets roped into a game by Trixie and a girl called Valerie.

It’s as if Delia never left. 

They all seem so comfortable with each other. 

Inside jokes and banter abound. 

And Patsy watches, hovering awkwardly on the edge of the parlor, with a sinking feeling that perhaps she doesn’t really belong here at Nonnatus anymore. 

Perhaps she never did.

Perhaps she’s always been too strange to belong anywhere properly. 

Nurse Crane pulls her aside, “You’ve been looking after yourself, Kid?” Phyllis’ eyes scan Patsy with a motherly scrutiny.

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been looking after Delia?” The older woman adds quietly.

The redhead shifts her gaze to the floor. 

Partly out of guilt over having not done a particularly good job of looking after Delia in the past. 

Partly because Patsy isn’t sure she’s ever going to truly get used to the idea that Phyllis _knows_ and Phyllis still loves them anyway. 

Patsy has spent most of her life hiding, and thinking that was the only way. 

Stolen moments with Delia, living across corridors, behind locked doors.

Simply not getting caught was the best they could hope for. 

This. 

This level of acceptance. 

It’s a bit overwhelming.

Phyllis smiles kindly at her and squeezes her hand.

Sister Monica Joan approaches, quoting Keats and wanting Patsy to dig the India photos out of her bags.

Trixie seems bored with the tigers and asks if they snapped any photographs of handsome local men instead.

Shelagh Turner keeps trying to get Patsy to sing Auld Lang Syne with her.

It’s all ridiculous.

But it makes Patsy think - maybe she does belong here.

With this accidental family full of strange people.

Maybe she’s not even the strangest one. 

Somehow or another the redhead finds herself alone with Sister Julienne towards the end of the evening.

The older woman had asked Patsy, as the tallest person available, to help get a box of new envelopes down from a high shelf.

This cupboard still smells exactly as the redhead remembers. An oddly comforting blend of fresh paper and half-dried ink. 

“I wanted to thank you for your very generous donation,” Sister Julienne says. 

Patsy ducks her head self-consciously, “That donation was supposed to go through anonymously.” 

“It did go through anonymously. Which is why I didn’t thank you in front of everyone - to respect your decision to remain nameless.”

The redhead frowns with confusion, “How did you know it was me, then?”

“Most of our donations are small, from the local community. When such a large one comes in it gets my attention. And, considering the timing of your inheritance, I couldn’t help but put the pieces together.”

Patsy nods in understanding, “I know you’ll use it well.”

“Do you have accommodations for the evening?” Sister Julienne asks.

“We’ll find a hotel, I’m sure.” The redhead shrugs. 

“I know you can afford your own lodgings and you don’t need any charity. But you’re both welcome to stay here if you wish.”

_Not a chance in hell._

Patsy politely declines, “That’s very kind, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”

After a blissful year of sleeping in the same bed as Delia every single night.

The redhead doesn’t fancy going back to sneaking around, dodging nuns and overly-inquisitive roommates.

Indeed, she’d already been thinking up plausible excuses for why they would have to leave this party early.

Because she wants to be somewhere private - so she can kiss Delia when the clock strikes midnight.

“Perhaps we can arrange it so that you and Nurse Busby can share a room,” Sister Julienne suggests in that tranquil, melodic sort of way she speaks that always makes people feel safe.

Patsy’s eyes snap up to look at the older woman. 

Sister Julienne holds her gaze calmly. 

The redhead’s heart pounds.

Her initial instinct is to feign ignorance and deny everything.

Or, just run.

If this conversation had happened a year or two ago, she might have.

But she’s genuinely curious, after the initial fight or flight response wears off-

“-You would allow that?” 

“We’ve had couples stay with us before,” Sister Julienne responds, “The Noaks’ for example.”

“The Noaks’ are a legally married couple. They’re not ’living in sin’.”

“I have considered this matter at length. I have prayed about it. And I believe only God can know what is in each of our hearts. It is not my place to make judgements about whose love is more virtuous.”

“I’m not sure everyone else would be happy with me being here, if they knew...what I am.”

“What you are - is a good nurse and a good friend,” Sister Julienne says firmly. “And, as long it remains in my authority to administrate, you and your loved one will always have a home here at Nonnatus House.”


	3. The Welsh Way

**March, 1964**

They don’t actually move back in to Nonnatus.

It would have been too easy for everyone to unravel the truth.

Nurse Crane and Sister Julienne can be trusted to be discreet.

But the less people who know - the better.

Besides, Delia had fallen in love with a little flat that’s only a short walk away.

It has yellow walls in the parlor and an eastern facing window that catches the morning sun.

Patsy offered to look at terraced houses in various upscale neighborhoods. 

She offered to buy a car for them to commute.

She offered a virtually unlimited budget for decorating.

But (beyond fresh cut flowers and new china with a modern geometric pattern) Delia hadn’t wanted any of it.

“We don’t need some posh place in Chelsea,” The brunette had said, “Poplar is our home, it’s where all our friends are.”

Speaking of friends - they made a new one. Sort of.

Richard Bourns. 

Them met him back in January, at a club that caters to men who…prefer men.

He’s a kind fellow who works as a roofer.

Delia had been very keen on asking him to be the ‘donor’ because he’s frightfully tall, with a striking resemblance to Patsy. 

“I want someone who looks like you," Delia had explained one evening, while Patsy smoked and coloured her hair in their bedroom, "Richard is perfect, he could be your twin brother.” 

“If you want someone who looks like me, shouldn’t we get a redhead?” 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, My Love.” The brunette replied with a teasing feigned sympathy, “...When it comes from a box - you’re not really a redhead.”

“Oh hush!” Patsy had playfully thrown the empty cardboard in Delia’s general direction.

And the brunette had dissolved into a fit of laughter on their bed.

Richard was delighted by the request, interestingly enough (possibly because Patsy had offered to compensate him handsomely for his help).

Now it’s just a matter of waiting.

The redhead is on her own with Nurse Crane at Nonnatus today. 

Everyone else is out on rounds.

Except Delia, she has the day off and is undoubtedly at the surgery. 

They’ve been loitering there whenever they have a free moment, pestering Doctor Turner about when the results of Delia’s pregnancy test might arrive.

At the moment, Patsy is supposed to be removing instruments from the autoclave and polishing them for service. 

A task she would normally undertake with great enthusiasm. 

But she’s feeling a bit distracted today. 

She pulls the object of her thoughts out from the pocket of her uniform. 

A ring. 

One of the things her father had left her.

She’s been carrying it everywhere since she got on the boat from Hong Kong, waiting for the right time to-

“-Did that somehow find its way into my pristine autoclave!?” Nurse Crane questions with alarm.

She squints and puts her glasses on to get a better look.

But Patsy quickly tucks the ring away again, “No- sorry. It’s mine.” 

“That’s quite a fancy piece of jewelry to be carrying about in your pocket,” Phyllis remarks with a knowing smile.

“I don’t intend to keep it there forever, obviously.”

“It’s lovely.” The older woman says. “I’m sure the future Mrs. Mount will be over the moon. Just make sure she actually gets it and it doesn’t wind up in one of these enema kits.”

“ _Eugh!_ ” Patsy exclaims with disgust, “Phyllis!” 

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of the front door bursting open-

“-I was just at the surgery,” Delia’s voice calls as she rushes through into the clinical room. 

She looks a bit windswept, as if she ran all the way here. 

“Are you...?” Patsy waits with bated breath. 

“I asked Doctor Turner to give me the results without telling me,” The brunette bites her lip and shoves the envelope forward, “You open it.” 

“No, you should do it,” The redhead bounces on her feet with a sudden flood of excess energy and gives the results back. 

“I can’t,” Delia hands them over again. 

Patsy passes them back, “But I want to hear it from you.” 

Nurse Crane snaps, “Oh, for goodness sake! Somebody please read the results!” 

Delia pauses thoughtfully for a tick and then offers a solution, “Will you do it, Phyllis?” 

The older woman snatches the envelope away and tears it open hastily. 

“You two kids are going to be the death of me,” She mutters, eyes darting over the paper. 

“Well?” Patsy asks.

“Well,” Phyllis grins, “It’s positive.”

The two younger women both burst into joyful tears. 

They hug tightly for a long moment.

And then Nurse Crane tells them to go home, with an affectionate scolding about how they’re not of any use to her in such an emotional state.

Patsy automatically reaches for her pack of cigarettes by the phone.

She’d left them there earlier when a patient called. 

Normally she doesn’t go anywhere without them close at hand. 

But she stops halfway through putting them back in her purse, thinking better of it.

She gives the pack to Delia.

“You should take these. Put them in the rubbish bin.”

The brunette raises her eyebrows, “Are you sure?”

Patsy nods resolutely, even if she is a bit pained to be giving up one of her favourite activities. 

_Really, who is Patience Mount without a cigarette in her hand?_

_But-_

“-I don’t want to be doing it around you, now that...”

The brunette beams and stands on her toes, pressing a kiss to Patsy’s cheek. 

Delia is in glowingly bright spirits on the walk home. 

She loops her arm through Patsy’s and looks up at the redhead.

It’s March, but the air is still chilled enough that the brunette’s cheeks are rosy from the cold. 

She looks so young.

There’s a lightness about her that Patsy hasn’t seen since the early days of their courtship - as if the burden of everything that’s happened in the interim has been lifted. 

And Patsy simply cannot wait till they get home. 

She pulls Delia into a little alcove between buildings and kisses the brunette breathless. 

It’s safe. This is a relatively quiet residential street. There’s no one around.

“I have something for you,” The redhead reaches into her pocket.

Delia tilts her head, trying to get a look at whatever it is. 

“If you’ve somehow got a packet of chocolate biscuits and a tin of sardines in there I’ll love you forever.” 

“Biscuits...and sardines?” Patsy grimaces.

Delia shrugs, “Your daughter has unique tastes.”

Patsy can’t help grinning like an absolute idiot at that. 

“You think it’s a girl?”

“I guarantee it,” Delia says confidently, playing with the collar on the redhead’s uniform. “And you’ll spoil her rotten, no doubt. You’ll be the best Mum ever.” 

Patsy wants to run to the top of this building they’re pressed up against. 

She wants to shout from the roof, so the entire city knows how happy she is right now.

Instead, she takes a deep breath. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for...forever, really.” She opens her hand, revealing the ring in the center of her palm, “It was my mother’s.”

Tears fill Delia’s eyes. 

“Oh, Pats...” She whispers with a hint of disbelief. “You should keep it. It’s part of your family.”

“It belongs with you then. You’re my family. I can’t give you a wedding, not the way you’ve always dreamt of it. But I can give you the ring and the vows. I can promise you all of my love for the rest of my life. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health...” 

She slips the ring onto the brunette’s finger. 

It’s a bit big. 

But they can have it resized. 

Delia won’t be able to wear it most of the time anyway. 

To keep her hands free for work.

And to avoid questions about why she’s suddenly wearing a ring without any husband to speak of. 

The brunette pulls Patsy down for another kiss. 

But they’re spooked by a sound on the street. 

Patsy turns around, afraid they might have been spotted by someone.

It’s just a stray dog.

“Stay behind me,” The redhead takes a protective step in front of Delia and gestures a bit menacingly at the dog, “Go away!” 

The brunette rolls her eyes and walks past fearlessly, kneeling down to scratch behind the dog’s ear.

“It’s alright,” Delia assess, “He’s probably just hungry.” 

“He’s _probably_ got _fleas_.” Patsy counters, a bit crestfallen at having her chivalry ignored.

“He’s skin and bones,” Delia notes with concern, hands buried in matted fur, “Pats, can we-”

“-No.”

“But-”

“-No.”

“I want to help him.”

“Deels, animals are filthy!” Patsy protests, “How am I to keep the flat clean with him tracking muck in every day?”

“He reminds me of a dog I had when I was a girl. My Dad gave him to me as a puppy for my birthday one year.” Delia smiles wistfully at the recollection, dimples on full display.

And Patsy is a hopelessly besotted fool.

Because she’s never actually been able to deny Delia anything.

_Whatever Delia wants - Delia gets._

Patsy would bring home a whole bloody kennel if she thought it would make the brunette happy. 

“Very well,” The redhead wrinkles her nose, “But he stays off the furniture.”

“I’m going to call him Huw,” Delia says cheerfully.

“Hugh?”

“No, _Huw._ ”

“Right. Hugh. That’s what I said.”

“You’re saying it the English way. Say it properly, the Welsh way: Huw.”

“...Hugh?” Patsy listens carefully to her own pronunciation, “Darling. It sounds exactly the same.”

The brunette shakes her head with mild exasperation and turns to walk off towards home, calling for the dog to follow.

He obeys her immediately, as if he’s been trained to all his life.

_You and me both, Old Boy._

Patsy laughs at herself and jogs after them.


	4. Lovely To See You

**May, 1964**

It’s a rainy Monday morning. 

_Or is it afternoon, now?_

Patsy had been on call at the weekend, and she hasn’t been off her feet or seen a scrap of food since Friday’s tea. 

And, the thing is, she’s not used to such a hectic schedule anymore. 

These instances are getting rarer and rarer.

Midwifery is starting to become obsolete, with more women choosing hospital births. 

Delia is terribly disheartened about that. 

She did brilliantly on her exam.

_Of course she did._

Patsy had no doubt she would.

Delia is the cleverest person she’s ever met.

But there’s hardly enough work to make it worthwhile.

It’s mostly just been district rounds since they got back to Poplar - home visits with elderly patients who won’t go to hospital and need a nurse to come by for things like routine insulin injections.

The on-call nights find them sitting by a phone that doesn’t ring quite as much anymore.

“I might as well have stayed at The London,” Delia had said dejectedly, one evening while they lay in bed.

“It’s not fair, you spent all that time studying for so little reward,” Patsy replied sympathetically.

“I enjoyed the studying, actually. It might sound strange but it was a way for me to be close to you while you were gone. I would read through the books and think about how you must have read the very same words at one point.”

“...I’m sorry I didn’t write more.” Patsy had said, for the millionth time.

“I know.” Delia had rubbed a soothing hand over the redhead’s arm, “I didn’t bring it up to make you feel guilty.”

But Patsy does still feel guilty. 

Caring for her father and managing his affairs had dredged up an endless stream of haunting memories from her childhood that temporarily consumed her.

Delia knows about the internment camp, of course. She’s heard more of it than anyone else. 

Still, there are some horrors that Patsy will take to her grave. 

Things that she’s not even sure she could describe in words.

Patsy didn’t know _how_ to write from Hong Kong. 

Much as she wanted to.

Right now, on this rainy Monday in Poplar, all she wants is a warm bath - preferably with Delia. 

“Darling, I’m home,” The redhead announces, as soon as she gets inside their flat. 

Huw greets her at the door. 

But not with his usual tail waggery and repulsive slobber.

He seems nervous and looks to her as if he expects she’ll deliver him from whatever has caused his anxious state.

Delia’s head pokes out from the kitchen.

Her face looks absolutely stricken and it makes Patsy’s blood run cold for a second - every possible worst case scenario involving the baby running through her mind all at once.

The brunette is only twelve weeks along. Things are still a bit fragile at this stage.

But, it turns out that they’re dealing with a rather different sort of family emergency, because-

“-Mam’s here,” Delia warns.

“Oh, what a _treat._ ” The redhead looks to the heavens for strength and plasters on a fake smile as she follows bravely into the fray, “Lovely to see you again Mrs. Busb-”

-Patsy did not expect a slap to the face at that particular moment. 

And she sort of splutters a bit from the shock of it.

Mrs. Busby is surprisingly strong for her size. 

_Must be where Delia gets it from._

“How dare you!?” The older woman fumes up at the redhead, “Seducing my daughter away with your jungle holidays! It’s bad enough you’ve kept her here in London for so long. I hardly know if she’s dead or alive half the time-”

“-Mam, please don’t take this out on Patsy.” Delia says meekly, staring at the floor.

“Don’t you start. You’re coming home. Today!”

“First off: Delia is staying here, with me.” Patsy says firmly, not wanting history to repeat itself.

Mrs. Busby glares up at the redhead, “I won’t have any cheek from you, you great ginger giraffe! I won’t stand for it anymore. This- this- what you’re doing with my daughter, it’s wrong!”

“Mam, _please_ …” Delia looks as though she’s about to cry.

And Patsy sets her jaw.

The gloves are coming off now, because this kind of stress isn’t good for Delia or the baby. 

“I’m in love with your daughter,” The redhead declares, “I love her more than my own life. I would do anything for her. And if you think that’s wrong, just because I’m a woman, then you can kindly _fuck off._ ”

There’s a long silence, where one could hear a pin drop.

Delia is staring at Patsy with wide eyes.

And the redhead isn’t sure if Delia is in shock from hearing her mother being told to go sod herself, in no uncertain terms - or if it’s surprise at the fact that Patsy has just voluntarily come out to someone.

Mrs. Busby, for her part, looks at the redhead with the utmost confusion. 

“What are you talking about, you daft girl? I don’t care that you’re a woman - I got over that years ago.”

Patsy throws up her hands, “What is your problem with me, then?”

“You keep Delia all to yourself! You’re the reason she’s spent holidays with her father and I only _twice_ in the past five years. Because she won’t leave your side, because she’ll follow you all over the world, apparently. But she can’t even make it home for her own Mam’s birthday.”

Tears fill Delia’s eyes, “...Why didn’t you ever say anything like this before? I thought you just hated Patsy. I thought you hated _me._ ”

“Oh Cariad, no. I could never hate you.” Mrs. Busby pulls her daughter in for a hug. 

“But what about- you said me being with Patsy makes Dad cry.”

“No. I said you going to _Paris_ instead of _Pembrokeshire_ for your holiday would make him cry. Because he would _miss you._ ” 

Delia sniffles, “I just never thought...”

Mrs. Busby huffs, “If you’d ever given us a chance, you’d find your parents can be very sophisticated.”

They all wind up around the kitchen table having tea. 

Patsy sits quietly and listens to Delia catch up with her mother - after years of keeping the older woman at arm’s length. 

Delia talks about the baby and how happy she is.

And about passing her midwifery exam.

And she shows off the ring that Patsy had given her.

Mrs. Busby nods, almost approvingly, at the redhead. 

Patsy just blinks back numbly. 

Because she can’t even believe this bizarre reversal of fortune. 

“I’ll walk you out, Mam,” Delia offers, when her mother is ready to leave.

Patsy holds the door for them, “Safe travels, Mrs. Busby.” 

“Promise you’ll be good to my girl,” The older woman replies sternly.

“Always,” Patsy assures. 

“I want you to bring her and the baby to Pembrokeshire as soon as it’s old enough to travel.” 

“Certainly.”

“And I want to see them every Christmas.” 

“Well, Delia is due right around Christmas this year. Perhaps I can arrange a hotel room for you and Mr. Busby to come visit us here in London?”

“I suppose that will have to do. But you’ll come to Wales for Easter," Mrs. Busby negotiates, "And St. David’s Day.”

“St. David’s Day as well?” Patsy raises her eyebrows. 

_Surely, that’s a bit excessive?_

But Mrs. Busby shoots the redhead a threatening look.

And Patsy doesn’t want to push her luck, so she just swallows nervously and nods.

“And Whit Monday and All Saints Day,” Mrs. Busby continues. 

“Mam!” Delia laughs, trying to usher her mother out the door, “We can’t take that much time away from work.” 

“I don’t understand why you even have to work anymore. Isn’t Patience filthy rich now?”

“We like working, Mam. It’s an important job...”

And, with that, Delia and her mother are off - bickering all the way down the corridor.

Patsy smiles softly and closes the door after them. 

_This has been an illuminating day._


	5. A Hair Pin

**December, 1964**

It’s snowing when they arrive at Nonnatus for Christmas.

Delia brushes a few melting flakes off Patsy’s shoulder while the redhead rings the bell. 

And Patsy is tempted to lean down for a quick kiss. 

But Delia’s parents are right behind them. And in front is a house full of nuns.

_Perhaps not the best time._

There’s a jolly little dinner where Sister Monica Joan feeds Patsy way too much Christmas cake.

Then Trixie and Phyllis insist on a game of charades against Valerie and Lucille. 

It’s nice.

Even Mrs. Busby seems to be in a festive mood.

“Pats,” Delia leans against the redhead, hands wrapping around Patsy’s arm. “I feel a bit wan.” 

Patsy isn’t entirely sure what ‘wan’ means. 

Something Welsh that Delia says when she’s suffering a general malaise.

“Do you want some water? An aspirin?”

“I think I’m just tired, I want to lay down. Will you take me home?”

The smaller woman is due any day and she’s been understandably fatigued in recent weeks.

“Of course, I’ll get our coats.” But Patsy hesitates when Delia’s grip on her arm turns vice-like.

“Alright, maybe I’m not just tired,” The brunette bites her lip.

Patsy is a midwife by trade. 

And she’s very good at it. 

But, for the life of her, she can’t currently recall a single thing that she’s supposed to do right now.

“I’ll call for a cab? No- that might take too long. We’ll walk- no that’s ridiculous you shouldn’t walk. We’ll do it like that one time where I carried you up the stairs at the nurse’s home, after you twisted your ankle.”

Phyllis must have overheard, because she approaches with a concerned look.

“With that snow out there, I’m not sure it’s safe for you to take her home at all.” The older woman cautions.

“No- but- I need to,” The redhead insists, “We have everything set up there.” 

Because Patsy had a plan and if they don’t stick to it, she’s not sure she can think of what else to do.

“You’ve got a house full of supplies and nurses right here.” Phyllis points out, “Stay.”

“Do not fret, Child,” Sister Monica Joan puts a comforting hand on Patsy’s shoulder, “Mother and baby will be fine - Mars is in Aquarius making an auspicious alignment to the Moon!”

“Why don’t we get Nurse Busby upstairs, to a bed?” Lucille suggests. 

“Good idea,” Sister Julienne assents, “Using the clinical room was not very practical last time we had a delivery here.”

“You’re welcome to my bed,” Valerie offers. “Linens are all freshly washed. Been out on call, haven’t had a chance to sleep in it yet.”

Trixie puts a steady arm around Delia and steers her toward the stairs.

“Make way ladies and gents,” The blonde waves Mr. Busby and Sister Frances to the side, “We’ve got a Christmas miracle happening here!”

Patsy goes to follow, but Mr. Busby catches her wrist.

“You’ll look after her?” He asks the redhead. 

Her mouth is dry and all she can managed to do is nod.

But the older man seems to be satisfied enough with that.

He collapses into a chair by the fireplace and lights his pipe with a shaky hand. 

“ _I’ll_ look after her,” His wife asserts, “She’s my daughter. I know what she needs.”

Upstairs, Patsy’s old room is a flurry of activity. 

Mrs. Busby is fussing over Delia.

Trixie and Phyllis are putting gloves on and laying out instruments.

“Do you need anything?” Patsy offers, trying to be useful. “Shall I...boil some water?”

Trixie stops and looks at her like she’s stark raving mad for a moment.

And the redhead hopes she doesn’t appear quite as terrified as she feels. 

She’s supposed to be here for moral support - for strength - but she’s fairly certain she’s sweating more than Delia right now.

“You just hold your wife’s hand,” Phyllis instructs, voice low enough that only Patsy can hear, “Let us take care of the rest.”

But Mrs. Busby has her daughter blockaded and she seems unwilling to let anyone near. 

Delia shrugs her mother off and reaches for Patsy, “Mam, can we just have a moment?” 

“You know, Mrs. Busby,” Trixie observes. “It’s a bit crowded with all five of us in here, I think I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside. Midwives only.” 

“Midwives only?” The older woman purses her lips and looks at Patsy, “How convenient that your friends are letting _you_ stay, Patience.”

As if Patsy had somehow predicted this exact scenario, five years in advance, and become a midwife solely for the purpose of defeating her de facto mother-in-law in their metaphorical tug of war over Delia. 

But Mrs. Busby does leave the room, grudgingly. 

The rest is all a bit of a blur, really. 

A very late night into a very early morning.

Then-

“-It’s a boy!” Nurse Crane proclaims. 

And now she’s asking if Patsy wants to cut the cord.

And Trixie is gathering up the used clamps and instruments. 

“I’ll just pop these down to the autoclave and tell everyone the good news! Don’t let the little fellow do anything adorable until I get back.” The blonde says brightly, closing the door behind her.

Patsy carefully hands the baby to Delia and kneels by their bedside.

“How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get you?” The redhead asks.

“A hair pin,” Delia quips, “I probably look a mess.”

“You look beautiful,” Patsy says honestly, “I love your hair down like this.” 

She leans in for a kiss.

She’s been dying to do this all night, but hasn’t had a chance with Trixie fluttering about the room.

Now it’s just Nurse Crane with them. 

And Phyllis simply smiles at the display of affection and turns away politely to give them some privacy.

But the door opens just then-

“-Forgot the surgical scissors, silly me,” Trixie chirps.

Patsy pulls back from Delia sharply.

But it’s too late, the blonde has already seen. 

“I- Trixie, I-” Patsy stutters, “Please don’t say anything to anyone.”

“Don’t say anything about what?” Trixie looks confused at first and then her expression changes to one of understanding, “Ohhh, the kiss.” She waves off any concern, “I’ve been keeping that secret for ages now.”

“...You knew?”

“I always suspected, even in the early days. But I knew for sure once Delia moved in. Did you really think I believed you crept into her room every night to play _card games?_ ”

Phyllis snorts at the redhead, “Card games was your cover story?”

“I was under pressure,” Patsy says defensively, “I had to think of something off the top of my head.” 

“Well, it never fooled me.” Trixie shrugs, “Your fondness for plaid attire speaks volumes, Dear.”

Patsy scoffs.

_Please, I don’t wear that much-_

-She looks down at the plaid shirt she’s wearing...

_...Point taken._

“If you knew all this time? How come you never said anything to us?” Delia asks the blonde curiously.

“I just tried to drop little hints that I was on your side and thought, surely, when you two felt ready - you’d tell me in your own way.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” Patsy says sadly. 

She would have liked to.

On those nights in. 

Hair rollers and pajamas and cocktails.

Trixie, Barbara, even Phyllis - would giggle about their latest date.

And Patsy would smoke and smile and make up some excuse for why she never entertained any gentlemen callers. 

And she’d constantly remind herself - _it’s not safe to get too comfortable here._

It was exhausting.

“Now then, I’ll have none of that long face,” Trixie tells the redhead, “This is a happy day! Introduce me to your son!”

He’s called William, after Patsy’s father. 

Billy, for short. 

A few days later, while Delia is resting, Patsy takes Billy to the surgery for his first routine physical examination. 

The baby sleeps through the entire affair rather serenely.

And Doctor Turner smiles as he puts away his stethoscope, “I’d say you have a very healthy son, Nurse Mount.” 

“Delia, you mean. Delia has a healthy son.” The redhead attempts to correct him, “I’m just helping her, as a friend.”

Doctor Turner gives her a look that says he knows - or strongly suspects - exactly what kind of ‘special friends’ the two women in question are. 

Patsy considers that this may be some kind of trap. To get her to admit to something incriminating. 

And she’s genuinely terrified. 

Of all the people in Poplar - Doctor Turner is the one with the most power to destroy her family.

He has a duty to protect his patients and the public health.

He might feel it necessary to prescribe barbaric shock treatments or have Patsy and Delia committed to a sanitorium. 

He might alert the authorities - who would undoubtedly take Billy away. 

Patsy instinctively clutches the baby closer to her. 

“Look, Nurse Mount, I’m not unsympathetic.” The man smiles kindly, “I hope I might be of some help to you.”

“Just like you helped ‘cure’ Mr. Amos?” She narrows her eyes and backs away from him, already thinking up an escape plan. 

Doctor Turner hangs his head, “I regret that things had to be that way for him. But I thought it was better than prison - the lesser of two evils. Please understand, I don’t agree with the police. I don’t think you or Mr. Amos need to be ‘cured’ at all. And certainly not locked up.” 

“How do you want to help then?” She asks suspiciously.

“By being a friend. Shelagh and I want to invite you and Delia, over for tea. Billy is close enough in age to our Teddy, we thought they might make fine playmates in the future.”

_...It doesn’t bother them._

The Turners know how Billy will be raised. 

And they still want their son to be his friend.

Patsy can’t stop the tears of relief that stream down her face then.

Because she’d been so afraid that if any of the local parents knew about her and Delia, innocent little Billy would suffer the stigma as well. 

And Patsy knows how painfully lonely it is to grow up without any friends.

But her son won’t.


	6. Just As Much

**June, 1966**

When Billy is about a year and a half old, Patsy comes home from work one evening to find water and muddy paw prints _everywhere_.

Her son toddles by - completely naked, screeching cheerfully at the top of his lungs.

Chased after by her wife.

And, lastly, the family dog (who seems to be having the time of his life in all the chaos).

As soon as Billy spots the redhead by the door, he barrels forward and launches himself into her arms.

“Patsy! Home!” He babbles happily.

“What on earth are you up to, young man?”

“We had a bit of an… _incident_ at bath time.” Delia explains. 

Patsy laughs, “I can see that.” 

One side of the brunette’s dress is soaked. But the other somehow seems completely dry. 

_She looks exhausted. Poor thing._

“I’m sorry about the floor, I’ll clean it up." Delia says tiredly, "And I know it’s my turn to cook but I really don’t have it in me tonight. Can I get away with just making you a sandwich?” 

“No. You won’t be doing any of that.” Patsy grins, “I’m taking you out for a night of fine dining and dancing- or we could go to the pictures, if you prefer. You’ve been wanting to see that comedy with Barbara Bouchet.”

The brunette pauses, seemingly a bit confused, “...What are you talking about?”

“Well, it’s our anniversary and-” Patsy rolls her eyes at the expression on Delia’s face. “-Oh, don’t look so astonished! Yes, I remembered.”

“I want to go, Pats." The brunette sighs, "But Billy needs a bath and the flat’s a mess and-”

“-I’ve enlisted Nurse Anderson and Nurse Dyer to attend to Billy while we’re out, I’m sure they won’t mind seeing to his bath. And don’t worry about the mess, I can deal with it tomorrow.” 

“You’re an angel.” Delia steps forward into Patsy’s arms and lets out a relieved breath.

They both adore Billy, of course.

But all parents feel a bit overwhelmed every once in a while.

On their way out the door, later that evening, Patsy smiles as Lucille balances the baby on her hip and helps him wave goodbye. 

Valerie seems to be watching Lucille and Billy with a peculiar look of longing on her face.

 _Must be 'baby fever',_ Patsy surmises. 

But Valerie will likely have to wait quite a while for the cure. 

The young nurse doesn’t even have a chap, let alone any prospects of marriage or motherhood, as far as Patsy is aware.

“Do you think we should say something to them?” Delia asks at the restaurant. 

She looks deep in thought - just pushing her food around her plate for a good five minutes now.

“Who?” Patsy questions around a mouthful of boiled potato.

“Val and Lucille.” 

“What do you think we should say to them?” Patsy furrows her brow.

The brunette shrugs, “That we support them. That they can come talk to us if they need to. I keep thinking, if we had a couple like us to look up to when we met, how nice it would have been - knowing that two women can make it together and be happy.”

“Hang on…” The redhead puts her fork down, “Lucille and Valerie are a _couple?_ ”

“Are you being serious?” Delia gives her a look, as though she thinks Patsy is terribly thick in the head. “How did you not realise? It’s not as though they’re subtle about it.”

“They just seemed like such good friends, like sisters!” 

“Can you even hear yourself right now?”

Patsy cringes while replaying what she’s just said, “I’m a terrible person.” 

“Only a bit,” Delia is clearly trying very hard not to openly laugh at the redhead. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to redeem yourself.” 

“Yes, I’ll invite the girls over for drinks one evening and we can give them a talk, take them under our wing, share all of our collective wisdom.”

“Good. Because I think every woman deserves to be as happy as I am when I’m with you.” Delia beams and reaches across the table to cover Patsy’s hand with her own. 

And Patsy doesn’t even think about moving her hand away for appearances sake. 

“Billy is asleep,” Lucille smiles when Patsy and Delia return home for the evening. 

“He was such a good boy,” Valerie adds, “No trouble at all.”

“Lucky you,” Delia mutters wryly under her breath.

She looks in on Billy in his room while Patsy gives the girls some money for a cab.

And the two young nurses disappear down the corridor, talking intimately about something with their arms around each other.

“Good grief,” Patsy raises an eyebrow, “We need to tell those two to tone it down a little.”

“They’re young and in love.” Delia says dreamily, coming over to wrap her arms around Patsy’s waist, cuddling close against the redhead’s side, “You remember what it’s like.”

“I don’t need to remember.” Patsy looks at her adoringly, “I love you just as much now - _more_ even.”

She leans down for a kiss.

It’s slow and tender, and filled with the sort of simmering passion that’s been sustained over years.

They rest their foreheads together for a long moment when their lips finally part.

“I want to go to bed,” Delia whispers.

And Patsy marvels at how, even after all this time - one look, one word from Delia - is all that’s necessary to take the redhead’s simmering passion and instantly ignite it into a burning desire.

Later that night, Patsy is just falling asleep when she feels Delia shift beside her.

The brunette’s hand drifts under the duvet and she trails kisses along Patsy’s jaw. 

“You’re rather insatiable this evening,” The redhead laughs.

“We need to make the most of our time alone.”

“I should think we can ease up a little at this point. Billy’s been sleeping through the night for ages now.”

“But if we have another baby, it’ll be back to nappies and feedings every few hours.”

Patsy pushes herself up on an elbow, searching Delia’s face intently.

“You want to have another?” 

“I once promised I’d give you a little girl to spoil,” The brunette grins, “You know I always keep my word.” 

“You’re amazing. And I’m madly in love with you,” Patsy leans down for a kiss. “But I’m not sure I have the energy to keep up with you tonight.”

“Why don’t you just lay back and relax, then?” Delia offers with a wickedly seductive grin that makes the redhead shiver in anticipation. “Let me have my way with you...”

As it happens, Patsy is buzzing with energy the next morning.

She gets up early and cleans the flat.

Billy wakes, and the redhead picks him up from his cot right away to keep him quiet.

“Shh,” She murmurs, “Be a prince and let your mother sleep.” 

“Mam? Sleep?” He asks.

“Yes. And we mustn’t make any noise. Do you understand?” Patsy demonstrates with a finger to her lips.

He nods solemnly and mimics her action, holding his own little finger to his lips.

“Aren’t you the cleverest boy!” She whispers delightedly and kisses his head.

She dresses him and gives him his milk, then takes him and the dog outside. 

They stop by the florist, just as it opens, to buy a large bouquet. 

Most of the flowers go in the vase by the sunny window in the parlor.

Patsy reserves one for the much smaller vase on the breakfast tray she’s preparing.

She bounces and sways with Billy on her hip - trying to entertain him enough to keep him quiet - while she makes Delia’s favourite milky brew and cinnamon toast.

When everything is ready she goes to add the flower as the finishing touch.

But Billy reaches out and flexes his hand, trying to grasp the stem.

“Do you want the flower?” Patsy asks.

He nods enthusiastically.

“These are your mother’s favourite as well.” The redhead smiles, “Why don’t you put it in the vase for her?” 

It takes him several attempts (and a little help from Patsy), but he manages to get the flower in its vase.

“Well done!” She encourages, tickling his tummy.

He squirms and giggles.

And Delia’s voice sounds from behind them-

“-This is the sweetest bloody thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Oh no!” Patsy turns around sadly, “You were supposed to stay in bed so I could bring you your breakfast.”

“And miss this adorable show?” The brunette asks, as if the very concept is unthinkable. 

“But I wanted to do something special for you this morning.”

“You did.” Delia kisses her cheek, “Watching you with Billy _is_ special to me. I’ve been wishing for a future with moments just like this, since the first time I saw you holding a patient’s baby.” 

“I know what you mean,” Patsy reaches out to play with a lock of the brunette’s hair lovingly, “My heart leapt, seeing your with Mrs. Reed’s little girl.” 

“You sentimental old thing!” Delia smiles with surprise, “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t see a point, at the time it seemed an impossible dream. I wasn’t clever or industrious enough to imagine how we might get to where we are now - you were always the brains of our operation, Deels.” 

The brunette just smirks, as if to say - ‘I know’.


	7. Some Fresh Air

**August, 1966**

Patsy holds Delia’s hair.

The brunette has been sick three days in a row now.

But she sits back against the bath with a big grin, as though she’s very pleased with herself.

And Patsy brushes the smaller woman’s fringe back so she can check for a fever.

“It’s morning sickness, Pats. I’m not ill.”

“We haven’t gotten the pregnancy tests results back yet. And, until we do, forgive me if I’d rather not take any chances with your health.”

“It was never this bad with Billy,” Delia says cheerfully.

“You’re a better woman than I am.” Patsy raises her eyebrows, “If I were as sick as you I’m not sure I’d be quite so glad about it.”

“It’s not the sickness I’m glad about. It’s what the sickness _means_.” The brunette seems almost giddy, “Remember? Sister Evangelina used to say ‘the more terrible the morning sickness - the more likely it’ll be a girl'.”

The redhead tuts, “That’s an old wives’ tale.” 

“Maybe. But it’s what I’m telling myself to get me through.” Delia says in a jaunty, sing-song way that makes Patsy smile.

Because the brunette’s joy is contagious. 

Because Delia is happy - and that’s all it really takes to make Patsy happy. 

The redhead goes to the kitchen and returns with a glass of water, which Delia accepts gratefully.

“Why don’t you stay home? I’ll run down to the shops and get you some ice lollies before I go to Nonnatus,” Patsy offers. 

It’s blisteringly hot out.

And something cold will probably help with the nausea. 

“No, I still want to go with you today. I think some fresh air will do me good.”

“ _Fresh air?_ ” Patsy almost snorts comically at that, “Have you forgotten we live in Poplar?”

Sister Julienne had asked if they would come round to help Sister Monica Joan harvest some of what’s ripe, from the tomato plants that have been taking over the allotment at Nonnatus this summer.

Delia wants to bring Billy and make a day of it. 

They stop on the walk over and Patsy buys four ice lollies.

The fourth being for Sister Monica Joan, of course.

Delia and Billy start on theirs right away.

But Patsy waits, because she thinks it would be nice to let Sister Monica Joan choose which flavour she wants.

And so, when they arrive, she holds the two remaining ice lollies out with a smile.

“Would you like orange or strawberry?”

“Yes, thank you!” The older woman takes them both, one in each hand, and walks away, alternating licks between them happily. 

Patsy opens and closes her mouth a few times and frowns with confusion, trying to work out what just happened.

“The look on your face!” Delia laughs, “Poor Pats, you can finish mine if you want.”

“But I don’t like lime,” The redhead pouts all the way to the allotment.

They pair off outside.

With Delia patiently teaching Billy how to take the tomatoes off the stem.

And Patsy watching them adoringly from a neighboring plant, while filling a basket with Sister Monica Joan.

The older woman puts her tomatoes in the basket with a lackluster sigh.

“Something the matter, Sister?” Patsy asks.

“I tire of these savory fruits. I would prefer we grow more sweet varieties, for jams and tarts and so forth.”

“Perhaps we can have a word with Sister Julienne about it, when we’re done here.” Patsy suggests.

“She will entertain no such request from me,” Sister Monica Joan laments, “She seems to believe it her sacred duty to deny me such pleasures.”

“I’ll say it’s all my idea,” The redhead gives her a conspiratorial wink. 

Billy, at that point, takes to gleefully smashing his tomatoes. 

And Delia tries to take them from him gently.

“Cariad, these aren’t ours, it’s not nice to ruin other people’s things. The Sisters need them for food.”

But the sight or smell of the crushed raw tomatoes must have triggered the brunette’s morning sickness just then.

Because her hand flies to her mouth urgently. And she stands up with a muffled explanation that she needs to be excused for a moment. 

“Rejoice! One of our own is expecting again!” Sister Monica Joan says, recognising the situation for what it is right away.

She stands slowly. 

And Patsy jumps to her feet to help her if necessary, “Do you need me to get you something?”

But Sister Monica Joan just waves her away impatiently.

The elderly woman reaches for the potted herbs by the garden wall, tearing off a few mint leaves from one of the plants and handing them to Delia.

“Chew on these, Dear. It will settle your stomach.” 

The brunette does as she’s told. 

She closes her eyes and stands in the shade, leaning against the brick of the building. 

“Thank you,” She eventually says, “It’s working already.”

“Brilliant!” Patsy tells Sister Monica Joan, “You’ve saved the day once again.” 

The old woman looks at her pleasantly, “You know, I did not get on well with my mother. Which I regret now. She was not always good, but she was mine. And I only had the one. How wonderful that your children have two!” 

And Patsy simply smiles.

Because - _of course Sister Monica Joan would see it that way._


	8. Can't Really Blame You

**April, 1967**

“Is the picture any better?” Patsy asks from one corner of the parlor, holding the television antenna over her head.

Huw barks excitedly at the screen, from his position on the sofa, cuddled up at Delia’s side.

The brunette gives him a hushed command to be silent. 

Because Billy has just been put to sleep in his room, and the toddler can be rather tetchy when awoken before he’s ready.

Patsy stands on her toes and leans a bit to the left, “Deels, how about now?”

“It was fine where it was,” The brunette laughs, “I want you to come sit with me, please? So far, the dog has gotten to enjoy more telly than you have this evening.”

The redhead returns the antenna to its original position and approaches the sofa.

“He’s in my seat.” Patsy grumbles about the dog, “Sometimes I think you prefer him to me, you know.”

Delia raises her eyebrows, “Someone’s having a right sulk today. _I’m_ supposed to be the one with hormonal mood swings.” 

The brunette gives Huw a scratch under his chin and a gentle command to get down from the sofa. 

“I’m sorry.” Patsy slumps into the spot as soon as he vacates it. “I just find all this monstrous technology so vexing. What’s the point of a brand new colour television set, if I can’t get it to work? It’s more like a colour _radio_ right now.”

“Come here,” Delia draws the redhead to her.

Patsy curls up on the sofa and rests her head in Delia’s lap.

And Delia runs her fingers through copper hair. 

Patsy closes her eyes, feeling all the tension leave her body, “I hope I haven’t ruined your birthday?”

“No. I love my new ‘colour radio’,” Delia grins, “Best gift you’ve ever gotten me.”

“I’ll get you something else tomorrow,” The redhead yawns.

“I don’t want anything else. I don’t think your daughter does either. She goes mad every time the music plays in this programme.” Delia reaches for Patsy’s hand and places it over her ever-growing middle.

The redhead feels it. A light fluttering against her palm.

She’s felt very similar sensations countless times while examining patients. 

It almost got to a point where it seemed entirely mundane and unremarkable. 

But it takes her breath away every time she feels it with Delia - with their children.

Patsy picks her head up and twists around a bit, so she can place a reverent kiss on the spot where her hand had just been. 

Their daughter is born at home the following day.

And, to Patsy’s own credit, she is managing to keep it together a good deal more than the first go. 

Nurse Crane and Nurse Franklin are in attendance.

But the redhead had been adamant that she could deliver the baby this time round. 

“You’re doing so brilliantly, Darling.” Patsy plants a kiss on Delia’s knee, “Just give me one more good push.”

As the redhead wraps the wriggling newborn in a blanket, one tiny hand flails free and grips tightly onto her finger.

Patsy laughs and cries at the same time. 

Because she once swore that Delia would be the only girl she ever loved. 

And what an outrageous fib that was. 

Patsy is irrevocably smitten the moment this little one looks up at her. 

“Is she alright?” Delia asks. 

“She’s absolutely perfect.” The redhead affirms, sitting on the side of the bed so she can transfer the baby into the brunette’s arms.

Delia coos something softly in Welsh.

“What did you say to her?” Patsy asks. 

“I just told her we’re her mums. And how glad we are that she’s finally here.”

A wave of bitter sadness washes over the redhead then. 

Because in this moment she gets to be ‘Mum’. 

After that, she’ll have to go back to being ‘Just Patsy - the family friend and benefactor’. 

A select few colleagues now know the truth.

But that’s only a handful of people in a city of millions - not all of whom would react so kindly.

The children can’t grow up thinking of Patsy as a parent and telling schoolmates about their ‘two mums’. 

Lest the school report it to the authorities.

Billy simply calls her ‘Patsy’.

And so will her daughter.

The redhead swallows her heartache as Phyllis walks over, grinning like a proud grandmother and tickling the baby’s foot. 

“What are you going to call her?” 

Trixie coughs daintily for attention, “Beatrix is coming back into fashion, you know.” 

“And it’s a lovely name,” Delia humours her, “But we’ve already decided to call her Elizabeth, after Patsy’s mother.”

“Oh. Of course.” Trixie lays a supportive hand on the redhead’s shoulder, “Congrats old friend.”

“Which short form should we use?” Phyllis asks, “Lizzy? Betty? Beth? Ellie?”

“Beth,” Patsy answers softly, “That’s what my mother liked to be called.”

When Beth is about three weeks old she goes through a colicky phase, fussing night after night.

Delia sits up in bed on one such evening, reaching for her dressing gown.

“I’ll get her, Darling.” Patsy says, “You sleep.”

The redhead lifts the baby out of the cot at the end of their bed and carries her into the parlor, to let Delia have some peace.

“What’s got you so upset, little one?”

The baby had just been fed and changed, so one of those surely isn’t the problem. 

She settles a bit at the sound of Patsy’s voice, looking up a her with the lingering murmurs of a cry.

“I wish you had a way to tell me. Because all you ever need do is ask and I would move mountains for you.”

Beth gurgles at her.

“Yes, anything for you.” Patsy continues the one-sided conversation, “You’ll probably be the only girl in Poplar with her own pony.”

The redhead laughs softly.

“Your mother thinks I’m going to spoil you, but I say - it’s not spoiling if you deserve it. And my little girl deserves the entire world.”

Beth blinks.

“You have your mother’s eyes, you know. The prettiest shade of blue. I bet you’ll be clever like her too. And brave. And independent.”

The baby kicks a foot free from her blankets, as if confirming that last one.

“Not too independent though,” Patsy backtracks a bit, “I hope you’ll still need me to look after you from time to time. Because I’ll always be here for you. Always. You are so loved and so cherished. I don’t think there’s ever been another little girl as loved as you are.”

After an hour or two of walking a sleepless Beth around, Patsy’s eyelids start to feel heavy. 

She just needs to rest them for a moment.

So she carefully lays back on the sofa, with the baby on her chest.

And that’s where she is when Delia gently wakes her. 

Morning sun is streaming through the windows and there’s a freshly brewed cup of Patsy’s favourite breakfast tea on the side table. 

“Sleeping with another girl, are you?” Delia teases softly, tongue-in-cheek.

Patsy smiles tiredly and plays along, “Oh rats. I’ve been caught. Can you ever forgive me?” 

The brunette makes a show of thinking it over. 

“I suppose. I can’t really blame you,” Delia strokes the baby’s cheek. “Who wouldn’t fall in love with her?”


	9. Ask Your Mother

**November, 1971**

This evening began rather mundanely.

Delia is on call at Nonnatus. 

Leaving Patsy to look after the children.

The redhead gives the little things their supper and leaves them at the table to eat while she does the washing up.

But four-year-old Beth’s tiny voice stops her before she can get started with her task.

“Patsy? Why don’t we call you Mummy?”

The redhead falters. 

She freezes with her hands on the taps - almost chokes on her own tongue trying to reply. 

“What do you mean, Sweetheart?” She turns around and leans against the sink, trying to affect a casual posture.

“Why do Billy and I call you Patsy, instead of Mummy?” The girl repeats.

“Because I’m not your mother,” The redhead answers hollowly. 

It sounds foreign to her own ears.

And it breaks her heart to say it. 

“You do all the same things for us that Mam does,” Billy reasons around a mouth full of carrot.

“Yes. But you came from her, she’s your blood, your family.” Patsy attempts to explain.

“Mam says a family is: ‘people who love and look after each other, it doesn’t matter where they came from’. Like how we call Trixie and Lucille and Val our aunts - even though they’re not, they still are - because they always do nice things for us.” Billy says.

“They let us have boiled sweets when you and Mam are at work!” Beth supplies cheerfully.

“Oh, do they now?” Patsy raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps only Nana Phyllis will watch you from now on then. We don’t want your aunts spoiling half your meals.”

“Okay, but Nana Phyllis gives us chocolate biscuits, just so you know.” Billy informs.

Patsy sighs.

She realises it’s pointless to be cross with her friends. 

The children inherited Delia’s dimples.

No one can resist that amount of cuteness. 

“...So, can we call you Mummy, then?” Beth looks up at the redhead.

The expression on her little face is so hopeful and so pure and she looks so much like Delia in that moment - that Patsy can hardly manage to rasp out a response, throat tight with emotion and tears pricking at her eyes.

“Let’s wait and ask your mother about it, alright?” 

It’s not really fair to put all the responsibility of handling this situation on Delia’s shoulders. 

But the redhead is half hoping that Billy and Beth will just forget about it by morning.

_Should have known better._

Because, in fact, it’s the very first thing the little ones mention when Delia walks in the door at breakfast.

After what looks like it must have been a grueling night. 

The brunette has circles under her eyes and a bit of hair is sticking out of her bun at an odd angle. 

She cries when she hears Beth call Patsy ‘Mummy’ for the first time. 

And so, the children finish the job that Delia started - slowly eroding the walls Patsy had built up over a lifetime. 

Their family becomes a sort of open secret in the community.

Perhaps the people of Poplar are just too busy to notice what the local midwives are up to.

Or, perhaps everyone does notice, and they simply don’t care. 

Either way. 

Whatever Patsy has always been afraid of - it never happens.

No one paints ‘Queer’ across their front door.

No one tries to cure them.

No one takes their children away.

There are a handful of people who give them scandalised looks at the market. 

The Pack at Cubs is missing a few faces. 

And Sister Winifred once offered ( _or threatened?_ ) to pray for their souls when she was visiting Nonnatus. 

But, for the most part - no one treats them any differently than they had before. 

And Billy and Beth grow up surrounded by a family full of strong, smart, remarkable women.


	10. She's Certainly Your Daughter

**July, 1973**

Patsy is helping the Cubs earn their astronomy badges this evening. 

Some of them complained they were hungry when everyone had gathered, despite it being only shortly after evening mealtime.

But the redhead is well aware that many of the boys’ families can’t always afford proper meals.

So she had let them raid the café (she’ll just buy replacements for whatever they eat and donate it all tomorrow).

And now there’s empty packets of biscuits and tipped over glasses of orange juice everywhere.

She sighs. 

She’ll have to stay late and clear it all up.

“Pack, when you’re done eating, form a queue by the door. We’re all going outside, and Mr. Buckle will show us how to use the telescope.”

“If _I_ remember how to use it,” Fred says out the corner of his mouth, with an uncertain look at the redhead.

“I’m sure you’ll remember,” She mutters back and pats him on the shoulder bracingly. “Otherwise this place will turn into Lord of The Flies. And I don’t want to die here, Fred.” 

“I’m getting too old for this,” He shakes his head.

The doors burst open and Billy runs in, Delia and Beth follow at a more moderate pace. 

“Did I miss the telescope, Mum?” The boy looks up at Patsy.

“You got here just in time,” She fixes his cap, which had been a bit askew.

And Delia fixes Patsy’s scarf, as their son runs off to join his friends. 

“You two always look very fetching in your matching uniforms,” The smaller woman tells Patsy, “I’m sorry he’s late. I was a bit delayed at work.”

“Is everything alright?” The redhead queries.

“Mrs. Davidson was feeling nervous again. She just needed someone to sit with her for a while, I think.”

“Well, she’s lucky to have you, the very best midwife there is,” Patsy beams at Delia proudly.

Beth taps Fred on the arm, “May I see the telescope as well, Uncle Fred?” 

“You can have the first go.” He says agreeably. “Ladies are always first.”

Some of the boys groan at that.

The man frowns, “Now then, Lads. If I’ll teach you anything at all tonight - we’ll start with how to be gentlemen.”

Beth takes after Delia in the height department.

The girl hops and strains on her toes, but she’s nowhere near tall enough to look into the telescope.

“Mummy, I need you to help me see the stars.” Beth turns around with an expectant look at Patsy. 

The redhead playfully swings the girl up into her arms, “Your rocket ship awaits, my little astronaut!” 

Beth squeals and giggles with delight.

And the redhead dutifully holds the girl steady, while she squints and tilts her head curiously - little shoes dangling a few feet above the ground.

Delia strokes the girl’s hair, “What constellations can you see?” 

“...I see some stars that look like a bunny, which one is that?”

Patsy shares a look with Delia.

Because their daughter is adorable and, honestly, neither of them can handle it.

“I’m not sure there are any known bunny constellations. You must have discovered a new one,” Patsy answers indulgently.

Beth apparently decides she’s done with the telescope at that point, because she wriggles out of the redhead’s arms. 

“I’m thirsty, can I go inside and get some water?”

“Do you want me to go with you, Cariad?” Delia offers. 

“No. I want to do it myself,” Beth asserts confidently. 

“She’s certainly your daughter,” Patsy grins at Delia.

They watch as the girl skips away with a self-assuredness that’s well beyond her six short years.

Edward Turner approaches Patsy a few minutes later.

“Mrs. Mount, would you like me to stay after and help clear up the mess inside?”

The redhead smiles, “That’s very thoughtful of you, Teddy. Thank you.” 

He nods and runs off to re-join the rest of the Pack members waiting for a go at the telescope.

They appear to be attempting an impromptu football match with an empty crisp packet.

And Patsy makes a mental note to add a real football to the list of things she needs to donate tomorrow.

“I love that kid,” Delia says fondly, “He always calls us ‘Mrs.’ - most people still just call me ‘Nurse Mount’s friend’ which makes me want to scream. What kind of _friends_ have two children together?”

The redhead frowns at the mention of their children and looks back at the community hall.

“Beth has been in there a while. We should go check on her.”

...Something seems amiss as they walk inside. 

“Hang on,” Patsy looks around, “Where did all the mess go? The boys had a snack before we went outside. This place looked shocking. And now it’s sparkling clean.”

The expression on Delia’s face becomes one of a light-bulb realisation and she points to the kitchen.

They find Beth there, stood with her glass of water. 

“Hi,” The girl turns to them brightly, “I did the washing up for you, Mummy. Also- don’t walk in here just yet, the floor is still wet from when I mopped earlier.”

Delia just laughs and looks to Patsy, “She’s certainly _your_ daughter.”

Beth rides atop the redhead’s shoulders on the walk home. 

“Everything looks so different,” The little girl observes. “Do you ever feel dizzy all the way up here, Mummy?”

“Sometimes,” Patsy jokes.

And Delia’s got an almost pained look on her face, which often appears at moments like this - when Beth is being ridiculously cute.

Delia slips her hand into Patsy’s affectionately.

In full view of all the other parents walking their children home.

The touch is casual and comfortable and - by now - it’s commonplace for them.

It makes Patsy forget they ever had any reason to hide. 

They say goodnight to Fred.

And wave to the Turner family, who have come to walk Teddy home.

They won’t be seeing each other for a while.

It’s the summer holiday now. 

Which means a trip to Wales. 

Mrs. Busby wants to see Delia, Billy and Beth.

...Patsy can come too.

Delia was right, Pembrokeshire is lovely. 

Almost idyllic. 

The first time they visited together, Patsy had been treated to a tour of the little village where Delia spent her formative years.

The paddock wall that she jumped from at eleven and earned the scar on her left knee.

The school garden where she broke Owen Morgan’s nose after he tried to kiss her.

The little country lane along which she picked wildflowers every summer. 

Patsy can easily imagine a young Delia here. 

Small and fierce and free. 

“She always wanted to do things her own way,” Mr. Busby had recalled fondly, chewing on his pipe during the first proper conversation Patsy ever had with him. 

“She still does,” The redhead had laughed quietly. 

“Her mother could keep her in line, sometimes - with enough shouting. I never could, didn’t have the heart to dampen her little spirits like that.” 

“Delia says you were a wonderful father,” Patsy had told the man.

“I used to worry she wouldn’t find a good husband who could handle her. But...I reckon she found a good wife, and that suits her just fine.” 

Mr. Busby had looked away then and cleared his throat a bit gruffly, as though the conversation had veered too far into emotional territory for his comfort.

And Patsy was glad of it, because it gave her a chance to privately blink away the tears in her own eyes. 

There are no tears today.

The sun is shining and they’re at Barafundle Bay Beach.

Billy is tossing sticks of driftwood into the calm surf for Huw. 

Mr. and Mrs. Busby are showing Beth how to find crabs in the little tide pools that dot the sand.

Patsy is strolling leisurely along with Delia, their arms around each other. 

The beach is very quiet.

There’s only one other family up ahead with a pair of boys, and a kite which they can’t seem to actually get up into the air.

The view is picturesque. 

Swooping seabirds silhouetted against the blues of the sky and the ocean, all framed by stately cliffs. 

It’s nothing short of paradise. 

“You must have really loved me,” Patsy muses, “To want to leave a place like this.” 

Delia just smiles softly and pulls the redhead a little closer. 

That evening, after tea, in the Parlor at Delia’s childhood home.

Mr. Busby puts a record on an old victrola and puffs away at his pipe from the safety of his armchair.

Beth stands with her little feet on top of Patsy’s while the redhead slowly shows her the steps to a proper waltz. 

Delia watches them with the most blissfully enchanted countenance, as though her heart is positively melting. 

Billy is showing his grandmother photos from a Cubs camping excursion.

And Delia suddenly decides - “We should take a photo now. Will you get the camera out, Pats? I want one of the whole family together.”

Everyone gathers on the sofa, as Patsy sets up the camera. 

She hopes she’s doing it properly.

Phyllis had loaned it to them for the holiday with only vague instructions about how to-

“-Timer’s on!” The redhead warns as she jogs to the sofa.

Mrs. Busby sits up a little straighter.

Billy smooths his hair back. 

Beth reaches up and gently takes Mr. Busby’s pipe out of his mouth.

Huw jumps into Delia’s lap which makes the brunette laugh.

And Patsy gets her arm around her wife, with a big smile. 

Just as the camera shutter clicks.


	11. There Was A Time

**October, 1983**

Patsy stands at the window, arms crossed and eyes fixed anxiously on the street below.

“Please calm down,” Delia says, not looking up from the book she’s reading, while lounged casually on the sofa.

“It’s almost a quarter to ten, you know.” The redhead glances at her watch for the hundredth time tonight. “She’s got fifteen minutes.” 

Beth is currently out on her very first date. 

And Patsy is not happy about it.

“I told her she could stay out till midnight,” Delia mentions.

Patsy’s eyes widen, “ _What?_ ”

“You and I talked about this yesterday,” The brunette sighs, “I thought we agreed that she deserves a little more freedom because she’s been getting top marks.”

“Yes. But I didn’t realise it was going to be _effective immediately_. I thought we could ease me into it a bit. You know, incrementally, give her an extra half hour every few months.”

“I’m sorry, I know this is hard for you,” Delia joins her by the window. 

Patsy shifts her jaw nervously, “Maybe I should go check on her.”

“Pats! She's a sixteen-year-old girl on her first date! She’d die of embarrassment if her Mum showed up to spy on her.”

“There was a time when she wanted me around,” The redhead says glumly, “She doesn’t need me at all anymore.”

“She still needs you,” Delia disagrees gently. “And _I_ still need you...which is why I wanted to have the flat all to ourselves this evening.”

The smaller woman stands on her toes and captures Patsy’s lips in the softest of kisses. 

It’s so alluring that the redhead has to keep her eyes closed for a long moment afterwards just to recover herself.

The tip of her tongue darts out to taste the bitter-sweet of the sherry Delia had with supper.

_...Perhaps, extended curfews have their benefits._

Later, in their bedroom, as their breathing returns to normal - Delia lightly traces her fingertips over Patsy’s skin.

And Patsy is unable to quell the silly half grin on her face in this heady state of afterglow. Sated, rapturously exhausted. 

“Did the evening turn out as you hoped?” She inquires. 

“You never disappoint,” Delia kisses the redhead’s shoulder. 

And the smaller woman smiles in that sort of coquettish way she’s always saved for Patsy alone. 

As though they share a special secret. 

When Patsy was younger and less inclined towards self reflection, she used to assume that smile was just due to the clandestine nature of their relationship. 

But now the redhead realises Delia always had some intuitive understanding that they could be destined for greater things.

That, with persistence, the depth of their feelings for one another could transcend any limit imposed upon them.

And a bond forged in the face of such adversity is unparalleled in its strength.

That’s the secret.

The secret to life. 

The answer to every question. 

The reason we're all here.

_Love._

Real love. 

The kind that's raw and heartbreaking at times. 

The kind that endures.

And, ultimately, the kind that fulfills and sustains and makes everything else worthwhile. 

“Do you remember that night in the tent, on the hillside in Botswana?” Patsy asks quietly.

“I remember the rocks digging into my back,” Delia says dryly.

“There was a local man who told me that the valley at sunrise is the most beautiful sight on Earth.” 

“It was lovely,” The brunette agrees.

“I stayed up all night to make sure I could wake you to see it. And, just before dawn, I remember looking at you and thinking - the sun, the valley, it could all disappear right now and I wouldn’t care because my whole world is sleeping next to me in this tent.”

Delia’s eyes well up with emotion.

And Patsy kisses the brunette’s tears away before continuing, “Those feelings never changed, my world just got a bit bigger when Billy and Beth came along.” 

“I love you,” Delia whispers.

“I love you, so much.” Patsy pulls her closer. 

The clock on the bedside table just strikes midnight when they hear the front door open.

Beth is home.

“I’ll go check on her,” Patsy quickly pulls on some pajamas.

“Tell her goodnight for me.”

“I will,” The redhead tucks a lock of hair behind Delia’s ear and presses a kiss to her temple.

But Patsy pauses when she meets Beth by the front door. 

The bubbly post-first-date smile that one might expect to see isn’t there. 

“Are you alright? What happened?” The redhead asks with concern.

“It was awful,” Beth wipes at her eyes. 

The poor thing seems rather distraught.

And Patsy’s heart stops, “...Did he...hurt you?”

“No. Nothing like that.” The teenager shakes her head as a fresh wave of tears hits her, “He just- says he fancies Sandra McMillan more.”

Patsy lets out a relieved breath.

She offers to make some tea and ushers Beth into the kitchen.

They stand in front of the kettle while the teenager sniffles through her account of the night.

“Sweetheart, this is just one silly boy - who clearly doesn’t know what he’s missing.” Patsy tries to comfort her, “There will be others.”

“Why are boys like this? Why can’t they just pick a girl and stay with her?”

“I don’t know. Boys aren’t really my area of expertise. That’s more your aunt Trixie’s genre.”

“Did you never date any boys at all?” Beth asks curiously, when their tea is ready and they migrate into the parlor to curl up on the sofa for a cosy talk.

Patsy laughs, “I was always taller than boys my age, I think it intimidated them so they never approached me. Which was lucky, because I didn’t want them to.”

“You always knew you fancied girls?”

“Always.”

“Did you ever fall in love with any, before Mam?”

The redhead shrugs, “Little puppy loves, I suppose. But nothing serious.”

“Have you ever had your heart broken?”

“...Once.” Patsy thinks back to the excruciating state of suspension she existed in after Delia’s injury, not knowing if they would ever see each other again.

“But you had a happy ending with Mam?”

“The happiest.” The redhead smiles. “And I was nearly _thirty_ when things finally came together for us. So, I promise, there’s plenty of time for you to sort it all out.”

“Thanks for this, Mum.” Beth takes a sip of her tea and then rests her head on Patsy’s shoulder, “I really needed a bit of cheering up.”

And Patsy’s heart soars.

Because her little girl _does_ still need her.

Patsy wraps an arm around Beth and kisses the teenager’s head.

Billy is at university now. 

He calls when he can. 

But it’s not the same as seeing his face, and hearing him shout in Welsh at the television when Cardiff City loses, and tripping over his trainers by the front door all the time.

And Patsy dreads the rapidly approaching day when Beth will follow her brother out into the great wide world.

Tonight, though, she's still safe at home.


	12. I'll Do My Best

**May, 1987**

The children are both at university now.

Billy is all the way in Wales. 

Beth is in West London, at King’s College.

And Patsy has been finding ways to distract herself from feeling like two very large pieces of her heart are missing from her everyday life. 

She briefly took up baking.

She pretended to care about art history for a few months.

She spends a truly sinful amount of time in bed with Delia.

 _That_ is almost as it was when they were young and newly in love - only better because they don’t have to worry about getting caught now.

In fact, they’ll be leaving in a few days, for a romantic holiday in Paris.

At the moment Patsy is just on her way home from Nonnatus, when she catches sight of her daughter leaning casually against their building.

With a cigarette. 

“Are you _smoking_ , young lady?” Patsy snatches the cigarette out of Beth’s hand.

“Mum!” The girl jumps at having been approached from the side. “A friend offered it to me. It’s not something I do all the time. Only before exams.”

“If you have an exam, what are you doing in Poplar? You should be across town.”

“I wanted to come say bon-voyage before you and Mam leave for Paris.” Beth flashes the lopsided grin she somehow inherited from Patsy, by association or proximity.

The redhead isn’t sure how it happens, as there’s no genetic link.

But the children have always taken after her with an alarming frequency. 

Every time one of them adds another of Patsy’s traits to their own repertoire - Delia seems to die a little over how adorable she thinks it is. 

Smoking, however, will _not_ be something she’s happy to see passed down. 

“You have to stop this,” The redhead drops the cigarette and grinds it into the pavement with the sole of her shoe. “Your mother will be heartbroken.”

“I’ll stop, I promise.” 

Patsy softens and pulls the girl to her for a hug, “Are you eating enough? Sleeping enough? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine, Mum.” 

“Are there any new boys I need to worry about?”

Beth steps back and ducks her head, clearly trying to hide a smile, “I am seeing someone.”

“Would I like him?”

“You never like any of my boyfriends.” 

“Well, I can’t help that no one is good enough for you.” Patsy grins and reaches out to smooth her daughter’s hair a bit. 

Beth looks away almost sadly then. 

Which confuses Patsy.

Because normally the girl seems to tolerate her Mum’s doting with good-humour.

The redhead tries her usual fail-safe comfort strategy, “Do you have time to come in? I’ll make you some tea.” 

But Beth shakes her head, “I should go, I want to do some last minute revising. Give Mam a kiss for me.” 

And so Patsy is packing for Paris when Delia comes home just twenty minutes later.

“I ran into Beth on my way here,” The brunette says seriously, “I think we should talk.”

_Oh dear._

Patsy heads her off, “I know all about it and I’ve handled the situation. I don’t think we have to worry any further.”

Delia seems thoroughly surprised by that, “Oh.” 

“What?” Patsy questions.

“Nothing. I just didn’t expect you would be so at ease about it.”

“Well, I admit it’s not ideal. I wish she’d _never_ done it.”

“I know, My Love. She’s still your little girl though,” Delia runs a comforting hand along Patsy’s arm. “Should we talk with Shelagh and Patrick about it? I suppose we’re going to see them anyway, when we take her to get the pill.”

“What pill?” Patsy folds up a pair of trousers and places them in her suitcase.

Delia looks at her, as though she thinks the redhead is completely daft, “...The birth control pill, obviously.”

Patsy is paralysed with a sort of abject horror then.

She stares very hard at her suitcase, trying to process what she’s just heard.

“...This conversation has nothing to do with smoking does it?”

Delia furrows her brow, “What-no- it’s about what happened between Beth and Teddy at the weekend.” 

“ _What_ happened at the weekend?”

“They went to bed together. And now she wants us to take her to get the pill. I thought you said you knew all about it.”

Patsy stomps out of their room and rips her coat off the hook by the front door.

But Delia chases after her, “Where are you going?” 

“To wring Edward Turner’s neck!” 

“For what? He didn’t force her. Teddy’s a nice boy, we’ve known him since he was a baby. Beth said he’s always been very respectful.”

“He’s not a ‘nice’ _boy_. He’s a _man_. He’s five years older than her!”

“ _You’re_ nearly five years older than _me_ ,” Delia points out. 

Patsy ignores whatever attempt at logic that was and drags a hand through her hair.

She paces in the parlor a bit maniacally, contemplating murder. 

“How can you be so calm about this?” 

The brunette sighs, “Because, I want them to feel like they can come to us if they have questions. Better her on the pill than us grandmothers right now. She’s going to do it either way. We can’t stop her.” 

“The hell we can’t! She’s a child!”

“She’s twenty, Pats. I was twenty when I had my first time, with you. And we both know how well it worked when my parents tried to keep us apart.”

“Why didn’t she tell _me_ about any of this? I just saw her as well.” The redhead collapses heavily on the sofa. 

Delia sits next to her, in a slightly less melodramatic way, “You two have always been so close...maybe she was afraid this would change the way you feel about her.”

“ _Nothing_ could ever change the way I feel about her!” Patsy is completely aghast at the mere suggestion.

“Then you need to go tell her that.”

“She’s busy with exams,” The redhead sighs, “I don’t want to bother her.”

“I wish my parents would have told me sooner - that they were alright with who I am. We wasted years we can never get back by dancing around things and not saying what we really needed to say.”

So Patsy doesn’t say anything.

Other than ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m proud of you’.

The next morning, when she goes across London and stands outside Beth’s hall of residence until the girl comes down on her way to the library. 

The redhead certainly has no antiquated attachment to the concept of chastity. 

She just didn’t want Beth growing up too quickly.

Having been forced to grow up at nine years old, Patsy had wanted Billy and Beth to take their time enjoying proper carefree childhoods.

_And they have._

_And now they’re not children anymore._

And when Beth asks if she can bring Teddy home for tea sometime soon.

Patsy says he’s very welcome, anytime, and pulls her daughter into a long hug.

A few days later, the redhead wakes in a hotel room. 

She rolls over to snuggle up with Delia but the brunette’s side of the bed is empty.

Patsy frowns with disappointment and looks around.

Delia is by the window, watching Paris wake up.

It’s early, a white morning light is streaming in all around her.

She looks ethereal. 

Standing there in nothing but Patsy’s favourite shirt. 

Last time the redhead saw, it had been carelessly thrown onto a chair the night before, in their haste to get each other undressed.

It’s two sizes too big on Delia, the hem falling around mid thigh.

Just long enough to drive Patsy wild. 

She gets up, pulling the duvet around herself like a cloak against the cool ambient temperature.

And she walks over to gather the brunette in her arms, nuzzling at Delia’s neck and planting a kiss just under her ear with a whispered request- 

“-Come back to bed.”

“In a minute. I’m just...thinking.”

There’s a sadness in Delia’s voice that makes Patsy’s heart ache.

“Missing your parents?”

“I’m sorry,” The brunette says, “I feel selfish. You hardly got any time with your parents. I had ages, in comparison.”

“It’s not selfish to miss people you love.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Busby had passed away earlier in the year, within a few days of each other.

Sweethearts from the Pembrokeshire countryside who couldn’t bear to live without the other.

“I just can’t stop picturing Dad’s face, the last time we visited. He didn’t even know who I was. I keep thinking about how you must have felt, when I was in hospital.”

“It was the worst moment of my life,” Patsy acknowledges, “Thinking you’d forgotten me.”

“I never forgot you completely. There were these little bits I’d remember. The smell of you - bleach and soap and perfume. The warmth of you. The love. It was all still there. It was just...foggy.”

“Then, maybe your father remembered little bits of you too,” The redhead suggests, “He seemed to remembered your mother.”

“I want us to be together fifty years, like they were,” Delia says quietly, “Grey and mad and forgetting everything, but still remembering each other somehow.” 

“I’ll do my best to make it to…” Patsy does the maths quickly in her head, “Seventy-four.”

“And I want to make sure we’ll be buried together. I don’t ever want to be apart from you again.”

“Alright,” Patsy agrees and holds the smaller woman tighter, “But that’s a long time off.”


	13. I Always Did

**July, 2013**

Parliament has just passed the Marriage Act.

England and Wales will, at long last, see marriage equality. 

But the law won’t come into effect until March of next year.

Eight months from now.

Patsy isn’t well. 

Hasn’t been for a while.

Lung cancer.

The doctors say she has three months. 

Considering her long term love affair with tobacco, she’s not particularly surprised or devastated by the news.

At eighty years old, she’s lived a very full life.

She might have been content to accept its natural conclusion at this time.

But Patsy has never failed to give Delia something she wanted. 

And Patsy sure as hell isn’t about to start now. 

So she’s still here, eight months later, on the 29th of March 2014.

Smiling like nothing hurts as Delia walks down the aisle, in a beautiful white gown with a long train.

Billy is here with his wife. 

And Beth and Teddy. 

And the three grandchildren.

There aren’t as many friends present as Patsy would have liked. 

Most of the old gang is no longer with them.

But Trixie is sobbing in the front row.

Lucille and Valerie took time out of planning their own wedding to come. 

Jenny is here as well, with her husband. 

Patsy was never particularly close with her, but they ran in similar circles and Patsy often feels as though she owes Jenny something for the encouragement to study midwifery. 

So much of Patsy’s life was shaped by her time at Nonnatus House.

She can’t imagine what she would have done without it - without the family she found there. 

And even though many of them are gone. 

Their love has remained, and their memories warm her still.

Patsy is old now.

There’s no getting around that.

Her skin is wrinkled.

She’s not quite as tall as she once was. 

Her hair is white.

But the way Delia looks at her has never changed.

And for a moment, Patsy is back at The London in 1957, finishing up her shift in the male surgical ward. 

It’s miserable. 

Much like any other day in male surgery.

She’s just tending to her last patient before she can _finally_ get out of here.

And she’s teased about her bandage wrapping technique - by a pretty little thing walking past the end of the patient’s bed.

Delia. On her first day of training. 

Batting her eyelashes and sporting a cheeky grin over her shoulder. 

As if she already knew Patsy was hers. 

When the wedding ceremony draws to a close, the Vicar turns to Patsy with a smile. 

“And do you take this woman to be your wife...?” 

“I do. I always did.”


End file.
